


Awakened Nightmares

by ValensHawke



Series: Ghost Love Score [1]
Category: Claymore
Genre: Canon - Manga, During the 7-year time-skip, F/F, Post-Pieta, Seven Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2563220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValensHawke/pseuds/ValensHawke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the survivors, they must carry out their final duty to their fallen friends. For Clare, she must come to terms that Jean died by giving her life to Clare. Unfortunately, Clare’s guilt begins to consume her. Her mind is not forgiving. Clare’s more than capable of fighting Awakened Beings. But what does one do when you create Awakened Beings in your mind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakened Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue in italics is lifted straight from the official Viz Media translation of Claymore.

“Live… Clare…”  
  
Pieta is abandoned now. Those that remain must begin the painful and difficult duty at hand. The final duty for 17 of their fellow warriors. Tabitha, Deneve, Helen, Cynthia, and Yuma try to be strong ones now. They try to carry out the final duty to their fallen comrades without need for direction, or orders. Truthfully, they cannot bring themselves to face Miria… or Clare.    
  
Miria kneels before Flora’s corpse, holding her dead hand, “Was this truly the best I could do…?” Deneve wants to go to Miria and tell her again she did what she could do, that her best was far better that anyone could hope for… that the fallen would wish those that remain to continue. That 7 warriors live when all of them were supposed to die. But now is not the time. Miria pays her final respects to each warrior, apologizing. She is guilt ridden. Deneve thinks about what she said about Miria, that she was unfit for command. Yet, it was this very side of Miria, the desire to save everyone, that bonds them to her. Yet, for the five that carry on the funeral rites, Miria’s state of mind and wellbeing are not as concerning as Clare’s.  
  
She hasn’t moved from Jean’s side, her hand gripping Jean’s hand. The look on Clare’s face is too painful for anyone to see. Deneve can still hear Clare’s wails in her mind as she held onto Jean’s lifeless body. Her words snapped Clare out of it long enough to survive the battle. Now… no one is sure what to say to Clare. The one person that might be able to reach her is in need of her own counsel. Deneve wants to do what Clare and Miria are doing. She wants to mourn, she wants to be angry, she wants to be selfish, she wants to honor Undine. But she can’t. Not now. All she can think is, “we must honor our friends and give them a proper and respectful burial.”    
  
Silently, the five of them head up to the mountains to find somewhere respectful and furtive where they could bury their fallen comrades. They make the journey quietly, claymores sheathed. They’d need something to dig the graves. They climb and walk a bit, before coming upon a cliff. Looking down, they see a tract of land. It’s not smooth, but it is open.  
  
Deneve points down and says, “There.” They all understand.  
  
Helen asks the first question, “Do we go down and start digging or do we… bring them here first?”  
  
Deneve thinks, unsure of what to do.  
  
Tabitha is the one to make the suggestion, “We… we should probably bring them here first. If we were not meant to survive, we should also abandon Pieta as well.”  
  
It was the sensible thing to do, Deneve says, “Yes.” They all turned back to Pieta. It would be a difficult back-and-forth journey for all of them. It remains unspoken, yet they all think it, “What will Miria and Clare do?”

~*~

As they return to the wrecked and nearly-abandoned town, they see Miria at the city entrance. She does not look angry. She looks apprehensive, unsure of what to say or do. The others stop, confused as how to react.  
  
Deneve is the one who speaks, “We’ve found a…” she pauses and sighs sadly, “suitable area for burying our com-... friends.”  
  
Miria looks to the ground, the look on her face mirrors the conflicting thoughts in her head. After a few moments, it is Tabitha that speaks, walking over to her Miria, “Captain Miria, our friends deserve a respectful and dignified burial, and we must abandon this town should the Organization send out others to investigate.” She puts her hand on Miria’s shoulder. The touch draws Miria out of her mind, allowing her to focus.  
  
“Yes, of course,” she says. It is difficult for her to say what she wants to next, “We should… carry our friends and comrades over there… Before we proceed our final duties to them.” It is understood, they’d have to do this at least three times.  
  
Deneve responds, slightly relieved that Captain Miria is coming back, but the other concern remains, “What of Clare?”  
  
Miria sighs and looks over her shoulder, indicating where Clare is, “She hasn’t moved at all. She hasn’t said a word. She wouldn’t look at me as I thanked Jean for her sacrifice…” she trails off. Even Miria feels helpless as to how to help Clare. But Clare is as she is, she kept the facade of being okay till the battle was over. It was Clare and Deneve that comforted HER after the battle. But as they started to calm down and focus on the situation, Clare withdrew more and more. In a matter of hours, Clare was silent, unmoving from Jean’s side.  
  
Finally, Cynthia speaks, “How do you want us to to proceed, Captain Miria?”  
  
Miria pauses, thinking about the safest and most expedient way to proceed. She speaks, “Yuma. You will stay here with Clare. The rest of us will carry five warriors to the location where Helen will stay and stand guard. Deneve, Tabitha, Cynthia, and I will return and carry four more. We will do so again. On the final trip, Cynthia will stay with Helen to continue the guard. On the final trip, we will have Yuma and Clare help us.”  
  
It is unspoken, but everyone knows Clare will not let go of Jean until she lays her down in final resting place. The rational side of Deneve wants Miria to order Clare to help like everyone else. But it was Clare that cut down Rigardo, it was Clare that saved the three of them at Paburo, it was Clare that saw through the Organization’s plans with Miria. It was Clare that saved Jean. Deneve admitted to herself, long ago, that Clare’s rank was not reflective of her potential or abilities. Deneve could forgive Clare’s behavior for now.  
  
Cynthia gently picks up Veronica, Miria picks up Flora, Deneve picks up Undine, Helen picks up Matilda, and Tabitha picks up Queenie. They begin their first and painful trip to the location. They walk in stride, silently. Each of them lost in thought, wondering why the warrior and friend they carried did not make it. The guilt weighs heavily each one.

~*~

Yuma watches as the others approach for the final time. This will be the last time they set foot in Pieta. Yuma looks back to Clare, and the agony she sees and feels from Clare shakes her. She would love nothing more than to shed tears, but she knows now is not the time. Instead, she walks over to Clare and puts her hand on Clare’s shoulder, “Clare… it’s time.” Nothing she thinks of sounds right, what she says doesn’t sound right.  
  
For the first time in half-a-day, Clare moves. She finally lets go of Jean’s hand. She gently puts her arms underneath Jean’s torso and knees. She picks Jean up, cradling her body close to her. She tries to maintain a stoic face, but inside her heart weeps and wails. The others pick up their remaining friends. They all start to walk to the graveyard, leaving Pieta for the final time.  
  
Helen and Cynthia catch sight of the approaching friends. They remain silent, feeling as if any conversation would be disrespectful. Tabitha, Deneve, Miria, and Yuma gently lay down their friends next to those they had brought. Clare walks over to the others and drops to her knees, cradling Jean.  
  
Deneve is about to speak when Miria grabs her shoulder. Clare remains on her knees for a few moments longer, cradling Jean’s lifeless body that rests against her lap. She finally lays Jean down gently next to Flora and stands. She looks to Miria, as do the others.  
  
Miria does not hesitate and giving the orders now, “Six-by-six plots. Please give enough space to those around you… We have far too many to…” Her voice trails off. Nothing else needs to be said. All of them begin to search for even surfaces, even Clare. Some wonder what Clare will do.  
  
They each find a spot for the first seven. Each of them unsheathes her sword and stabs it into the frozen earth. Twisting to break the ground up, they lean down and start to move the cold dirt aside, trying to dig a grave deep enough. This is not a new experience for any of them. Sometimes it is rock, sometimes it is a lake, sometimes it is soil. The fact they have to do it 17 times, shakes them.  
  
The fact Clare has to bury Jean, and not the other way around, shakes her. The first seven graves are dug. Deneve, Clare, and Cynthia move the fastest. Clare begins work on a second grave as Deneve and Cynthia help the others. Soon, 16 graves are dug. Clare begins work on her third grave. Yuma and Tabitha come to help her, but she simply raises her right hand while her left hand grips sword. The look on her face says, “Move back.”  
  
For a few tense moments, the others wonder will happen. Yuma and Tabitha back away as Clare returns to digging the grave. They all understand now. Quietly, they all watch as Clare breaks the dirt up with her sword. Soon, she’s digging with her hands. She works faster, knowing all eyes are on her. She finishes digging, the grave ready. She stands and walks back over to the group.  
  
Everyone except Miria is looking at the ground, off into the distance. Miria’s voice is commanding, yet with a softness, “One at a time.” Four words. There is some question as to how to begin. Miria walks over to where the warriors lay in peace, and gently picks up Flora. She walks over the shallow grave closest and lays her down in it, taking Flora’s sword from her hands. The others surround the grave and salute with their swords. Yuma and Clare shed a tear. They are silent a moment, then sheath their swords. Miria stabs the sword into the ground at the head of Flora’s grave. They begin the painful process, each of them aiding in finishing Flora’s final resting place. When they finish, they again have a moment of silence.  
  
Next is Undine, whom Helen picks up and carries to a grave. She lays Undine down in the grave, taking the remaining sword. Like Miria, Helen stabs the sword into the ground at the head of Undine’s grave. They begin the process again. It is repeated 14 times.  
  
The 17th grave is Jean’s. Clare walks over to Jean’s body. She pauses and drops to knees again. She pauses for a moment before picking Jean’s body up and cradling her. She stands and walks over to the final grave. As she is at the grave, she again goes down on her knees. She looks at Jean’s face, frozen in death. For the first time Clare notices that Jean looks at peace, with a faint smile on her lips. Clare cannot process why Jean would look happy in death. So many others had looks of terror, or anger, or agony. Jean did not. The guilt grows in Clare’s heart as she lays Jean down in her grave. She takes Jean’s sword and stands up walking to the head of Jean’s grave. She stabs it into the earth. She refuses to cry in front of the others. It’s of little consequences, they can all feel Clare’s pain exuding from her. They salute Jean with their swords.  
  
As Yuma tries to start the burial, Clare walks over to her, places her hand on Yuma’s chest and pushes her back some. Yuma is confused and looks over Clare’s shoulder to Miria. Miria simply shakes her and Yuma withdraws. The others begin to withdraw. Miria knows. Clare is stubborn and likes to work alone. It was her first experience with Clare that always colors how Miria views her.  
  
Clare begins to circle Jean’s grave, hesitating. Deneve restrains herself from outright yelling at Clare. Helen shakes her head, not out of anger or even mocking. She is truly sad that Clare feels the way she does. In truth, Helen feels indebted to Jean. Jean’s sacrifice prevented Helen from having to kill Clare. For everything Helen says and acts around Clare, she is a friend.  
  
They all watch as Clare begins to bury Jean. It’s more painful to watch, they all feel like they should be helping. Clare will not allow it. Jean was her responsibility. The thoughts she had been fighting so hard to keep out of her mind are now persistent and pervasive, “I failed to protect her… I killed her.” It is a repetitive chant in her mind, like a lash from a whip that will never stop. Every handful of dirt Clare uses to bury Jean stings, the pain in her heart grows. She fights valiantly not to cry again in front of the others. As she pours the last amount of cold dirt over the grave of her ward, a single tear drop falls from her right eye. She struggles, mustering the might of her will to prevent more as she stands.  
  
The others approach again and circle the grave. They bow their heads for a moment. As the moments pass, Miria can feel a slight tremble coming from Clare. She knows she needs to get them away from here for now. They have their suppressants, they will work at suppressing their Yoki. However, they need shelter.  
  
She looks up and speaks, “There should be some caves that we can use as shelter; we should be able to make some bigger if necessary.” It’s enough to break them from their mourning. They need to go back to the task at hand. “We are a few miles from Pieta, the town will be abandoned for the foreseeable future. We’ll stay in these mountains. The town might prove useful for supplies later.” She looked down at her uniform and thought for a bit, “We’ll need better armour and clothing, more suited to disguising us should there be beings passing through.”  
  
That day would not be today. For now, they all just wish to be somewhere isolated. Miria leads the group to the cave she had found earlier, where Helen, Deneve, Clare, and an unexpected Jean met with her earlier. Whatever the shortcoming in size, they would use their swords to make it bigger, more suited for staying. It was merely step one in recovery. Miria would not let them down again. She just wishes she could reach Clare. She glances at Clare. Clare has a blank expression on her face. But they can feel it, Clare is a whirlwind of sadness. The road to recovery will be most difficult for her.

~*~

It is a ritual now. Clare begins every day in the mountains of Alfons walking to the makeshift cemetery. It is a ritual she completes without fail. The others understand and give her this time. Each of them remembers the pain and sorrow as they had to dig the graves. Each of them remembers how Clare carried Jean to her final resting place. Each them remembers the look on Clare’s face. Each of them remembers how Clare would only allow herself to bury her friend.  
  
This ritual is now a time where no training, no planning, and no fighting take place. She walks the forming pathway to Jean’s sword that that marks her grave, genuflecting before it. The others continue to hope something will spark within Clare. But behind those steely-silver eyes, they feel it. The anguish and pain as if Clare’s heart was ripped out. Yet, it was something with which Clare was all too familiar.  
  
Everyday for the last three days, without fail, she comes here and pays her respects to her fallen friend. Every day, she asks the same questions, “Why did you sacrifice yourself, Jean?” But it was more than Jean… she carries the flesh of two other warriors. Teresa… the one who saved her. Irene, the one who gave her an arm and the Quicksword. Both had given her strength to carry on when all seemed lost. She carries the last wishes of Ophelia, who entrusted her to kill their mutual enemy. She carries the only evidence they ever lived. Miria wonders if it isn’t the burden of responsibility. But it isn’t. For Clare, it is the burden of faith entrusted to her.  
  
Tears begin to form in her eyes, her lips tremble in anger and guilt. She cannot understand why, all she can feel is shame as she turns her head away from the sword, “Why did you all put your faith in me living? I am the weakest warrior!” It sounds like an act of contrition, of self-hatred. The shame of feeling weak consumes her. “Why did you save me? Why? Jean…Jean…” she pauses and looks at the sword, focusing on Jean’s emblem. She feels lost. As tears drop from her eyes, the confusion of feelings begin to overwhelm her. The guilt, the anger, the sadness… the despair all shifting moment by moment. Her silver eyes could still shed tears, and the guilt wracks her that she lives while Teresa and Jean die.  
  
She believes the others could have saved Jean. Number 9 lives, Number 47 dies. That’s how it should be in Clare’s mind. Of this, Clare is convinced like stubborn child that did not get her way. It is the truth, nothing more in her mind. Deneve views it as survivor’s guilt.  
  
Clare reaches out and touches the sword, tracing her fingers over the emblem. Two warriors had sacrificed their lives so that she could live. For Jean and Teresa… she never knows what she should do. All she ever hears is two words… And she turns her head away again, the guilt returning. She gets up and walks back to the encampment. No one says anything to her. She had stopped wearing her pauldrons like the rest of them, fresh coating of snow aids the desire to be inconspicuous. It’s the start of her shift to be up, everyone will have two hours together. Now is the time to discuss what to do and how to do it. Miria, Deneve, and Cynthia do most of the talking inside the cave.  
  
She continues to walk until she feels she has a sense of solitude. She cannot show her face to anyone. She sits down, her back against one of the many large boulders. It’s her shift to rest, along with Tabitha, Cynthia, and Miria. Helen, Deneve, and Yuma have the watch. They give her space, the battle affected her as much as it did Miria. She sits down, back leaning against a large boulder. She stretches out her legs and looks up in the sky. It’s been days since she last slept. She closes her eyes, praying to God… any god… for some rest.  
  
Her mind is hazy, she wonders how long she’s been asleep. She does not feel the bitter-cold wind in the mountains anymore. She does not feel the boulder against her back. She realizes something isn’t right and suddenly opens her eyes. She’s standing. She looks down at her herself. She’s wearing a blue cloak. Her hands touch and feel her hair, she has a small ponytail tied up. It’s chilly, not cold like it is in the mountains. It’s dark. Her claymore is hidden within the cloak, strapped to her back. She tosses the cloak off, gets rid of the band holding her ponytail in place, and draws her sword as she begins to remember. She’s in the castle, the Witch’s Maw. Where she first met Jean. “But… how am I… When is this?” She feels hopeful, maybe Pieta was some sick and twisted dream. Maybe it was some kind of psychic torture that she had finally broken.  
  
She takes two steps forward before something catches her eye. Someone approaches from the left. She turns her head, what she sees makes her heart skip a beat and jump into her throat. She’s stunned into silence as Jean approaches her. She cannot read Jean’s expression. She wonders, “Would Jean even know me?” The thought depresses her, if it were some kind of mental manipulation, Jean would not know her. Or share any memories.  
  
Jean draws her sword and points it at Clare, “You killed me. Why couldn’t you let me die here?”    
  
Clare takes a step back automatically, she’s stunned into silence. Her thoughts become jumbled, the only clear one trying to override the rest, “This cannot be real.”  
  
“It is real. You killed me. I gave you my life. How much clearer can I make it? You awakened because you were reckless. You are always reckless and selfish, expecting others to clean up and pay for your mistakes,” she says. Jean takes a step forward and swings her sword, knocking Clare’s sword out of her hand.  
  
The accusation rock’s Clare as Jean continues, “Your recklessness killed your Captain. Your selfishness killed Teresa, isn’t that right?”  
  
Clare cannot respond, she feels a pain in her heart. She looks at Jean, remorseful, her face begging for some kind of forgiveness.  
  
Jean simply sneers at her, “You couldn’t just let me die a human here, could you?”  
  
“I… I had to do something, I knew I c-”  
  
Jean cuts her off, her tone angry and unforgiving, “You didn’t have to do anything! But you always do! Number 47 always tries to be a hero. How many have gotten killed in your quest to show everyone how wrong they are about you?”  
  
“I’m sorry, If I could give my lif-”  
  
“You can’t, you reckless... pathetic... weak... failure. You took mine and you’ll take others because you are Number 47, but you know better than everyone else,” she finishes. She raises her sword and swings.  
  
Clare closes her eyes and accepts her fate, “Please let this be my penance.”  
  
Suddenly, another voice shouts, “Clare!”  
  
The sudden feeling of bitter-cold air hits her face, she feels the rock against her back, she realizes she’s back in a sitting position. Her breathing is fast, she opens her eyes. Yuma is kneeling beside her, hand on her shoulder. The look of concern on her face is palpable, as is her uncertain tone as she informs Clare, “It’s your watch now, Miria is waiting.”  
  
It was nightmare. The ordeal leaves Clare shaking internally. She keeps her facade up, but even Yuma can sense it. Clare is shaking and trembling inside as she rises. She picks up her sword and sheaths it. Without saying a word, or even looking at Yuma, she begins to walk to the field where they train.  
  
Yuma walks next to her, but does not push. None of them push. Yet, Yuma hopes someone would, “Please, Miria, please see Clare needs some kind of guidance right now.”  
  
Before she goes to train, she walks to the cemetery in the mountains.

~*~

She needs to choose a Yoki-less technique to train. They all needed to hide their aura as the Organization would probably send out warriors, even newly-minted warriors, to find out what happened at Pieta. She would be unable to train with it.  
  
She looks at the frozen ground, her thoughts are conflicted. Finally, she tosses out a suggestion, “What about the Drill Sword?” They all heard it, the crack in her voice as she made the suggestion.  
  
No one says word for several moments, before Miria makes a suggestion, “The Drill Sword is a single thrust technique with a considerable build time. Of the warriors here, I do not feel it is best for you. Your style is based on both sustained speed and explosive speed. Your Quicksword is as sustained as a battle technique can get… Perhaps you should master Flora’s Windcutter?”  
  
Clare thinks it over, “Of course, she’s right. It’s why she is a natural leader,” yet another thought consumes her immediately after, “I couldn’t even keep Flora alive.” She tries to focus, not giving away the anger she feels. Yet, they could all sense it. The guilt exuding from her being.  
  
Clare looks up and at Miria, “Thank you, Miria. I will learn the Windcutter.” Logically, rationally, she is right. Her Quicksword is as sustained a battle technique can get. Windcutter is a quick and explosive technique. Yet, she feels unworthy of any of them. The thought remains, invasive and accusing, “You are Number 47 of the Organization. How are you alive when Number 7 and 9 died?”  
  
The meeting ends as they break off to various sections. Unsurprisingly, Deneve and Helen train together. As do Yuma and Cynthia. Tabitha remains with Miria. Clare begins to walk off to find a tree or tall wall of rock, but she stops as she hears Miria’s voice, “Clare, it’d be best to practice on a moving target. Let’s train together.”  
  
Miria knew she had to keep her connected to everyone else, the solitude would kill her. She worried Clare would simply run off to complete whatever mission of revenge that she held in her heart. She decides to train with Clare, hoping it would go differently than their first sparring match. Clare was naturally quicker now. She needs that quickness to develop a new technique herself.  
  
She turns around walks back to Miria and Tabitha. The days training would not go smoothly, but it was a start. Miria views it as a victory that Clare put in any effort. As they both train to exhaustion, Clare is surprised at her own precision with the Windcutter. It’s not even acceptably fast, but its accuracy is fairly good for a beginner. “Perhaps it’ll make my Quicksword more accurate,” she thinks to herself.  
  
As she stands facing Miria, breathing hard, for a few fleeting moments, she could forget all the guilt and just focus on technique and precision. For Miria, she hopes it would spark something in Clare.  
  
“That’s enough for today. Helen, Deveve, and Yuma have the watch. Rest, Clare,” she orders.  
  
Clare simply nods, sheaths her claymore, and puts back on her hood and cloak. She walks back to her spot in the mountains. And sits back down, back against the boulder, stretching out one leg, while the other is bent with the foot flat against the ground. She rests her arm on the knee. Her thoughts take her to Raki, remembering the prayer. She looks up to the sky, and prays again, “God of Rabona… if you exist… please continue to give a small piece of your mercy to that young boy… so that we may be reunited again.”  
  
She cannot fight the exhaustion anymore. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back, hoping that her mind would not take her down dark paths. After all, she was exhausted. Perhaps her mind would be as well…

~*~

She wakes up shaking, tears in her eyes. She cannot control it. For 10 straight nights since her first night terror with Jean, she has nightmares. She does not remember much, just broken images. Those images are trapped in her mind. She hates what she sees. She hates herself. She hates that she causes the death of those she comes to hold in her heart as friends.  
  
She is now just going through the movements. The only time she feels anything is before Jean’s grave. She tries to muster up the effort necessary for training. As Miria works on a new phantom move, Clare focuses on the Windcutter. Tabitha is on standby, focusing on acute yoki healing. It has come in handy as Clare has some bruises after a fight. Clare does not want the bruises to be healed, but Miria rightly points out the Tabitha needs to practice in order to heal greater injuries.  
  
The day’s training results in a contradiction with Clare. She put in the effort, she is making progress. Miria is making progress toward a yoki-less phantom move. Yet, Clare is still a whirlwind of sadness. It was only 13 days, though. Miria takes it as a good sign that Clare is trying, Yet, Clare is also being problematic.  
  
The others can feel and see it. The distance she’s put between her and the rest. It’s enough that Miria worries Clare will just disappear one night and assigns someone to be close to her, to watch her when she goes off to rest. Clare knows it is usually Yuma or Cynthia that tracks her. She does not try to lose them. She simply just walks a bit further out, so she can feel some degree of solitude. She wants to be alone in her thoughts, “After all, the closer they stay to me, the more likely they will die.”  
  
It is a thought not born of bitterness. She feels sad. Ever since her parents were murdered by her Yoma-infested brother, she has had no one for any length of time. The chaos in her brain returns as she no longer feels in control of her thoughts, “Everyone I ever loved has died. Some by my hand. My parents, my brother, Teresa… Elena… Jean…” The pain in her heart grows. It is guilt, undeserved and unwarranted self-punishment. She breathes deep breaths, trying to ease her heart and her mind. She closes her eyes, trying to rest. Her exhaustion is palpable, her mind drifts off as she falls asleep, praying that the visions in her mind stay at bay...  
  
She slowly regains some awareness. She senses something wrong, she does not feel the bitter-cold wind again. She snaps open her eyes, she’s standing again, and what she sees lets her know she is dreaming. She’s not in the mountains anymore. There are trees surrounding her, a canal nearby, and grass under her greaves. She’s near a cabin. Irene’s Cabin. She’s in uniform again as well.  
  
While she does not panic, she certainly does not what to remain asleep as she tries to force herself awake, “Wake up…” Nothing. “Come on, wake up…” still nothing. “Wake! Up!” She looks around. She balls up her hand in a fist and hits the tree stump Irene had created before she started training Clare in the Quicksword. There was no pain as she put a fist-sized hole in the stump.  
  
She catches someone approaching from her left again. She turns her head and against it’s Jean. Her eyes are golden, her face angry. Clare can sense her Yoki aura… she’s at the threshold.  
  
Panic overtakes her, “Jean, stop, you’ll cross your limit!”  
  
Jean glares at Clare, letting out a small chuckle, “It’s not everyday you’re given the opportunity for retribution. Especially against the one who killed you.” She raises her yoki aura, her eyes shimmer gold, her teeth sharpen as the pauldrons break apart, her clothing tears, her greaves shatter. Jean’s awakened form becomes distict, her face is contorted, stretched. Her body spawns tendrils, her flesh expands, stretching out and forming wings from her back.  
  
Clare stares in terror, her guilt and shame overwhelm her. She cannot move, she does not want to move. She grits her teeth, she just wants to take the punishment she deserves. She watches Jean approach, claymore in her hand, inverted so the hilt is up.  
  
Jean uses the end of the hilt as reinforcement, throwing a hook-punch to Clare’s temple. The end of the hilt slams against her skull and temple. The force knocks her the ground, she lands face down. Clare tries to get up, she makes it to her knees. She can feel the hot blood dripping from her temple.  
  
Clare makes no effort to fight back, she’s breathing heavily. She feels dazed. She staggers, trying to stand up, but drops to her knees. Her body feels heavy, she does not feel much pain. The blow to her temple leaves her stunned and shocked. She looks up, Jean is standing in front of her. Her eyes are narrow, her anger is clear, her tone of voice matching, “You killed me.” She grabs Clare by her hair and picks her up. She slams her back to the ground, Clare’s shoulder hitting the ground first. She breaks Clare’s shoulder, as there is an audible crack and crunch.  
  
The pain does not fully register, Clare remains physically and mentally groggy, confused. She rolls off her shoulder and on her back. Her breathing is labored. She tries to sit up. She ends up on her back again. She rolls over, trying to get back on one knee. Jean slams her knee against Clare’s back, Clare’s body and face slam against the ground.  
  
She tries to get up again, arms pushing herself up as she tries to get to her knees. Jean kicks Clare’s abdomen and she falls on her side. She turns her head and tries to look at Jean, her face begging for some kind of forgiveness. Jean’s golden eyes are cold, merciless, cruel.  
  
She narrows her eyes slightly, speaking in a calm tone, “The world punishes the weak. But the ultimate punishment is reserved for those who are weak, yet arrogant. Number 47 of the organization, you are the weakest. Your arrogance leads you to believe you are better than your rank. Yet, how many have died because of you? How many lives are endangered because of you?”  
  
Clare is dizzy, her mind is foggy and, she tries to speak but it comes out broken and barely above a whisper, “I… I owe you my life… take it.”  
  
Jeans glare hardens, her golden eyes are merciless. “What makes you think your life is equal to that of mine? You were Number 47 of the organization, the weakest. Your life is nowhere equal, my life was always more valuable. You had a single job, keep me alive. And you failed, and this time no one can come in and save the life you murdered,” she says coldly.  
  
Jean walks over to the staggering Clare as she gets up. She holds her claymore with her left hand and  swings at Clare’s face, using the flat-side of the blade. The force knocks Clare to the right, her face violently turning as the sword hit. She can feel warm liquid dripping from her cheek. Bleeding from her temple and cheek, the grass and dirt staining her face, she struggles to get back up.  
  
“Do you think standing and showing determination will save you, will save anyone?” Jean asks.  
  
Clare manages to get back on her knee. She looks up as Jean stands in front of her. She looks up at her face. Jean’s face, stretched beyond recognition, her green-flesh-made-wings block out any sun. Jean grabs Clare by the throat with her right hand, lifting her up. She holds Clare up, feet off the ground, with her arm fully extended. Clare does not fight back as Jean chokes her.  
  
Jean takes flight. Clare can feel the air moving around them, the wind whipping from Jean’s wings. Clare can barely get enough air into her lungs, her body is limp, the face is partially covered in a bloody crimson mask. “Please, please, please Jean… just take my life. Take my life so you can live again,” she thinks. Her thoughts make no sense, she knows. She does not care. “Just maybe the God of Rabona will answer my prayer, and do the right thing.”  
  
Finally, Jean stops. Clare has no idea how far up they are.  
  
“Do you know what your sin is Clare? Your worst sin? Pride. Pride leads to arrogance, arrogance kills warriors. Your pride has caused so much death. And what do you do? You steal our techniques. You steal Flora’s Windcutter. You try to steal my Drill Sword. The power of my technique overwhelms your weak and pathetic existence,” she says coldly. “It is this sin that casts you out of heaven.”  
  
Jean throws Clare back down. Clare falls backwards, looking up at Jean. “I’m sorry, Jean. Please forgive me and take my life,” she whispers,barely conscious.  
  
It feels like an eternity before her back finally hits the ground. The back of her head hits the ground a split second after, making a sickening thud. Clare cannot move. She can barely keep her eyes open. She sees Jean in the sky. She can make out her claymore, pointing down at her. Jean is getting bigger, that much she can tell. As Jean gets closer, she sees her claymore spinning. The realization hits Clare, she is both relieved and terrified: Jean will pass judgment on her with the Drill Sword.  
  
Clare sheds a tear from both guilt and relief. “Please let this be my penance,” she says.  
  
“Clare! Clare! Please, wake up!”  
  
Clare’s body jerks forward, her eyes open, she cannot hide her tears, she cannot regain control of her breathing fast enough. Yuma is frightened. Clare’s well-being is worrying Yuma and the others. But Yuma is  the one that sees it regularly. She puts a hand on Clare’s back, unsure of what to say or do. She rubs Clare’s back a bit, trying to do something, anything, to remind her that they all care and want to help.  
  
Clare struggles some, but stands up. Her breathing normalizes, she wipes the tears from her eyes. She cannot look at Yuma. After a minute, she gets her mask back on and looks at Yuma.  
  
Yuma looks pensive, “Miria would like to have a meeting soon, before training.” She did not have to say it. It is understood. The meeting would be after the ritual. Clare simply nods and begins to walk back to the cemetery.  
  
Yuma looks crestfallen. She begins to walk back to the cave where they hold meetings. She needs to speak to Miria about Clare. It was so difficult for her to watch Clare wake up from her terrors. But Captain Miria continues to allow Clare her stubbornness. Yuma does not understand, but she trusts her Captain. Miria must know what she is doing. But it would not hurt to ask Captain Miria, because Clare’s self-torture is hurting her and everyone else.

~*~

In the few hours after the burials, most of them felt the desire to rest. Miria organized the schedule for overlap and for rest, so between 3 and 4 warriors are always awake while the others get a much needed rest. Clare, however, is now finding it impossible to turn off her mind. For her, sleep is the enemy now. Not because of weakness. But because of what her mind is trying to tell her. She killed Jean. Her mind will never let her forget… and her sleep leaves her mental defenses completely vulnerable.  
  
She ignores sleep. She is part Yoma, she is not human. She should not need sleep. “It is irrational and stupid,” her brain tells her. Her guilt overrides any thought of rationality. The toll it takes on her training is noticeable. After 3 days of just not sleeping, 16 days after the Battle of Pieta, Clare’s ability to train is greatly diminished. Miria keeps training with Clare. Miria will not give up, she forces Clare to keep on going. Miria knows Clare must rest. Every time she or Deneve try to talk to Clare, Clare just nods, says a few perfunctory phrases, and walks off to be alone.  
  
On the 21st day, everyone sees the toll it is taking on Clare. The day’s training is a study in contradiction and self-destruction, behaviors Clare exhibits in spades. Clare fights, or tries to, with Miria. However, it is similar to their very first sparring match at Paburo. Deneve and Helen stop their training and approach, keeping a safe distance as they observe.  
  
Deneve sighs heavily, “Stubborn and irrational as always.”  
  
“Well, what do you expect? She is the youngest of us, I believe,” Helen responds. “It’s not like she was always the bastion of mature and reasoned behavior,” she pauses trying to formulate words as to how she actually feels about Clare. “But it’s something about her stubbornness and irrationality that makes her unpredictable, dangerous to anyone fighting her. Still, she could stand to learn and grow more.”  
  
“She is the youngest, yes. It would have been fascinating to see if she rose above the rank of 47 had we all not been condemned here. Realistically, she should have probably been put in the low 30s from the outset. Maybe even in the mid-20s after Paburo,” Deneve says, her face remaining calm and even,  
  
Helen takes some offense to what Deneve says, “Hey! Are you saying she’s more powerful than me?”  
  
Deneve’s face becomes serious, her tone matching, “I’m saying that if Clare could just control her explosive qualities to her, she could easily be in the single digits. Realistically, we all could. But you know it too, she cut down Rigardo by herself. Yes, she crossed limit… but if she could just take all that will and channel it… with that arm and her Yoki-sensing ability… Why she does not see it, I don’t know.”  
  
Helen keeps quiet but agrees. As they focus on the fight, they see Clare miss altogether with the Windcutter and Miria landing a clean blow to Clare’s abdomen with the wooden swords used for training.  
  
Helen winces, even a wooden sword at that speed is going to hurt, “Ouch.”  
  
Deneve simply agrees, “Yeah.”  
  
Clare drops to the ground, holding her side. She rolls to her back and sits up slowly. It was not deliberate by Miria, she drops her training sword and helps Clare up.  
  
Clare takes a couple of deep breaths as Miria helps her stand. Clare pushes away from Miria, leaning down to pick up the training sword, to start again. Miria simply shakes her head. They exchange words, but Deneve and Helen are too far to hear them. Based on their body language, Miria is telling Clare it’s over for today, where Clare is saying she’s fine.  
  
Helen gives a quiet laugh, “Stubborn and irrational.” Her mood turns somber before continuing, “Yet… a good friend. I wish she would forgive herself.”  
  
Deneve simply nods in agreement. However, she mentally debates her actions for later that night, “Perhaps someone needs to remind Clare of just the gift Jean gave her.” Of all the things Miria and Deneve say to Clare, they do not invoke Jean’s name. They speak of the others or the fallen as a whole. Not of Jean. Not of any of them. Helen and Deneve see Miria walking back to the cave, Clare heading to the direction she normally wanders.  
  
Helen and Deneve walk to catch up to Miria. They enter the cave a few steps behind Miria. Miria is sitting on a boulder, talking to Tabitha, Yuma, and Cynthia. The four of them stop talking to glance at Helen and Deneve. Satisfied that Clare is not with them, they resume talking.  
  
Yuma looks at Miria, pleading and sorrowful, “Miria, please. Waking her almost everyday and seeing her come out of whatever nightmare she’s experiencing. She wakes up, shaking and in tears. Sometimes I see her move and thrash about. Before she woke from the last time, I heard her say, ‘Please let this be my penance.’ We have to do something! Please, she hasn’t slept in 8 days.”  
  
Miria agrees, but does not know what to do. If it were only an enemy, something tangible, even an awakened being, it would be easier. But she knows. Clare blames herself for killing Jean and letting Flora die. Miria thinks to herself, “Clare is stubborn and likes to work alone because it allows her to hate herself. If she has no connections, she can hate herself and die in some meaningless quest for revenge. How do I reach someone like that?”  
  
As she thinks, Cynthia and Tabitha discuss the merits of some kind of intervention with the six of them. Miria focuses back on the talk and cuts in, “You know that will get nowhere with her.”  
  
Deneve finally joins in the conversation, “You’re right, it won’t. Let me track her tonight, or at least go with Yuma and I’ll speak to her.”  
  
Miria looks at Deneve, unconvinced, “We’ve both talked to her many times these last three weeks. It’s gotten us nowhere.”  
  
Deneve remains determined, “Do you think Flora would want us to stop trying? Or Jean?” She does it. For the first time in 21 days, she mentions the fallen by name. She continues, getting angry, “How can we expect Clare to move on when we, ourselves, cannot even mention their names? Yes, Clare is stubborn, like a selfish child. She carries a lot of guilt. But look at the rest of us. We dance around talking about them, like they’re just some kind of myth. They were our fellow warriors. They were our friends. They were the only others who we could connect to, and yet we feel so guilty we can’t say their names. I didn’t know Jean, at all. But she was devoted to Clare, everyone could see that. A single digit following the lowest ranked around, protecting her.  
  
“We have to move on as well. We have to forgive ourselves. It wasn’t us that dragged them into this. We were ordered here. Remember that. And thanks to you, Captain Miria, some of us survived. I believe the fallen would want us to go on and honor them. And even then, look Miria: These are the lives you’ve saved with your plan. It was and still is our good fortune that you are our leader. Undine believed that. So did Veronica. So did Jean. So do we. And so does Clare. Clare, in her own twisted way, believes it would be best if she isolated herself from us as some kind of protection from her. The sooner we remember that the fallen accepted your plan, knowing not everyone could survive, but did so anyway because their effort would help _someone_ to survive, the sooner we move forward. They were all like Jean, willing to offer up their hearts so that someone else could live. All of them. Veronica, Undine, Flora, Queenie, Lily, Wendy, Carla, Eliza, Emelia, Natalie, Diana, Zelda, Claudia, Juliana, Pamela, Matilda. We all chose your plan because it was our best hope for survival.”  
  
Miria pauses and looks to the cold ground. Deneve has a way with words when she does speak. She looks back up, looking at each of them before answering Deneve. She asks a very poignant question, “And Jean?”  
  
“Jean didn’t give a damn about her own survival in the end. She was determined to save Clare as much as Clare was determined to protect her. And like the rest of us choosing to go with your plan, she chose to give Clare her life for reasons that belong only to her. Call it a life debt or maybe there was something more,” Deneve says. There was a sense of devotion Clare and Jean had, and still has in Clare’s case, for each other. She continues echoing her words from three weeks ago, “We must preserve the memories of those that have fallen.”  
  
Miria is silent, internally trying to resolve her own feelings of failure and self-loathing. She understands where Clare is coming from, she feels it. But unlike Clare, she is a leader and she must set an example. She must overcome.  
  
Tabitha speaks up, “Captain Miria, we are alive because of you. And we are grateful. Please remember that. Deneve is right, we must forgive and march forward ourselves… for some of us need more help at different times.”  
  
Deneve picks up from Tabitha’s logic, “Clare can fight awakened beings, come up with strategies on the fly, and will be determined, like you, to save as many as she can or gain revenge for those that have fallen,” she pauses, not wanting to admit it but Clare is off elsewhere, “She is as much the reason we survived Paburo and Pieta as you are. She helped us. We can help her. But we cannot let our own guilt consume us… or we will end up like how Clare is now.”  
  
Miria stays silent for a few moments longer. She nods, having processed everything that has been said. “She is really something at times, able to cut down an awakened being, but not her own demons.” The statement was directed to no one in particular. “Deneve, you will follow Yuma tonight and talk to Clare. I hope the words you speak to her reach her… like your words now have reached me.”  
  
Deneve nods. Helen has a grin on her face. Yuma breathes a sigh of relief. Tabitha and Cynthia put a hand around Miria’s shoulders.  
  
Miria smiles slightly. She knows they will forgive themselves and move forward. She knows they will become stronger. “It’s just Clare that needs a bit more help right now,” she thinks to herself.  
  
Miria looks to Deneve, “You will follow Yuma as she tracks Clare. Yuma, you will return to camp and allow Deneve to watch Clare for this night. Helen, you may follow as well but do not join Deneve until she has finished with Clare, understood?”  
  
“Understood, Captain Miria,” Helen responds, grinning.

~*~

Clare walks alone, she stays silent through most of the meetings. She knows she cannot train at optimum levels. The only thing she is doing well is suppressing her yoki. Her feet drag as she walks, her shoulders are heavy, her side that was hit hard by Miria aches, her face aches, her eyes burn. For the first time in 21 days, she finally thinks of the organization and is full of resentment, “I wonder if they conducted experiments on sleep deprivation.”  
  
She finds a boulder, away from everyone. Nothing in sight except more mountain and the perpetual grey sky. She sits down and leans back against the boulder. She wonders where Yuma is hiding. She takes a deep breath and sighs. Being off her feet helps her body. It does not help the burning in her eyes, though keeping them open in the frigid air helps ease the burn.  
  
Her thoughts take her back to Jean. She had only spent a few weeks with her, traveling to Pieta after they were assigned to join the battle. All the time she spent trying to get Jean to turn back, trying to convince her that her life was her own and no one elses. Jean would just look at her silently before calmly stating it was her choice to follow her. That she had a debt, bound by honor and respect, that had to be paid back.  
  
She remembers something very poignant Jean said to her on the way to Pieta, “You are the first person in my life that has cared for my life this way, Clare. How could you ever think that it wouldn’t make me care about yours equally?” She had said with a small smile, with affection, something Clare was not accustomed to receiving from anyone, especially from another warrior… not since Elena.  
  
The memories stir feelings in Clare’s heart as she smiles briefly before the guilt hits her hard. She grits her teeth as the thoughts come back forcefully, accusingly, hatefully, “You killed her. You were her guardian and you killed her.” Just a repetitive chant in her mind. She cannot stop it, she just lets it happen. She wants to scream. She cannot, she wants no one to find them, she wants no one to come to her aid. She just wants to be alone. She grits her teeth as she focuses on the darkening grey sky. Some of the clouds break, letting the moon shine through.    
  
“How many more nights are you going to blame yourself?” Deneve says, appearing out of nowhere. Yuma told Miria that Clare had taken to camping farther and farther out. They all know Clare wants to be alone, especially at night. Miria does not allow that.  
  
Deneve stands in front of Clare, looking at her intently, continuing, “How many more nights are you going hate yourself because of what happened? How many more nights will you disappoint Jean and Flora with your self-loathing, with your disgust with yourself? It’s hard enough to carry on being what we are… this… Do you think she’d want you like this?” Deneve asks. It is dark, only the moon provides some light amidst the clouds.  
  
“She gave you her life. She gave you her everything. Because she wanted to, because she felt you, and only you, were worthy of it. Think about that gift, Clare. Think about it long and hard. She would not want you this way. No one does. Do not disrespect and dishonor her by your own selfish actions,” Deneve finishes. She gives Clare one last look before she walks away, going back to rejoin Helen as they had the watch for Clare this night.  
  
Clare felt the wind against her face, the cold and dry air moving across this cold and barren wasteland. “Jean doesn’t see it as a gift anymore,” she thinks to herself. There was no logic behind the statement, and the rational part of her mind knew it. But the rational part of her mind was shouted down by her guilt… by her anger.  
  
She is awake for eight days at this point, and everyone has seen the the toll it takes on Clare. Finally, her body overrides what her mind wants, and the next blink proves to be Clare’s undoing as she unwillingly falls asleep…  
  
She becomes aware when she is dreaming, but cannot to figure out how to force herself awake. The terrors are the most vivid, she’s now back in the ghost town where she and the other prospective warriors were tested. She walks around, it is as deserted as she remembers. Suddenly, she hears a loud series of cracks and stone crumbling. She runs to the source of the noise, finally locating it in the center of the ghost town, where a cathedral collapsed. “There was no cathedral in the ghost town…” she thinks to herself. As the dust and debris settle, she sees movement from the top of the heap. Suddenly, the debris and concrete go flying. Emerging from the wreckage, she sees… a horn… on a lion’s head. Wings, yet the body of a lion.  
  
She grabs her claymore, letting her Yoki aura flow and increase. She readies her battle stance, claymore in both hands, pointed at this… awakened being. As she readies for her attack, letting her Yoki flood Irene’s arm, a hand stretches out from her right, she catches it from her peripheral vision. The palm of the hand touches the upper blade and pushes the claymore downward as the awakened being in front of her doesn’t charge at her, no. It begins to destroy the other buildings around.  
  
“Why fight against yourself, Clare?” Jean asks. She has the same smile on her face, faint but noticeable.  
  
Clare finally drops the claymore, and turns her head away. Whatever the awakened being is, it is not interested in them. It’s simply destroying everything around them. “The hardest battles are the ones against yourself,” she responds.  
  
Jean looks around the growing destruction around them, looking slightly amused at the answer. She turns her head back to Clare, still not meeting her gaze, “You asked me how long I intended to follow you. Remember what I said?”  
  
In her head, Clare knows she should look up and face Jean. Her heart is filled with guilt and terror, she hates the guilt she feels when she wakes up. She hesitates to answer, allowing the awakened being to smash the building to her left to rubble. Yet, it continues to ignore them.  
  
Jean reaches out and touches Clare’s chin with her fingers, gently pushing her head up as she moves to stand in front of her. She holds the smile on her face as she says, “I know you remember.”  
  
“You said…” Clare pauses. The pain in her heart is like the pain from transformation and she tries again, “You said… you would follow me until the debt was repaid.”  
  
Jean nods slightly, “And that’s exactly what I did, Clare. I made this choice. You gave me life and made my life worth something. You gave me the gift of living a meaningful life. Not a life where I was simply a warrior of the Organization, to be discarded or killed in some meaningless fashion. You saved me. You cared for my life like no one else had before. How could you ever think I would not care for yours the same way? I saved you. And you helped Miria save as many as she could. So then… why do you fight these demons in your mind?”  
  
Curiosity and confusion get the better of Clare, her brows furrow and her eyes sharpen, as she tries to shout angrily, but it comes out with guilt, the pain and hurt getting worse, “You’ve told me it was my fault for your death!” Her face falls from anger to hurt confusion.  
  
For the first time since these nightmares began, Clare sees Jean looking sad as she asks, “Was it really me who told you that? Or is it you wanting me to say what you’ve said to yourself these past 21 nights?”  
  
The accusation rocks Clare. The implication causes the confusion to remain, as does the hurt. Clare doesn't know what to think. Her mouth barely moves, her voice barely above a whisper, “I said and did those things?”  
  
Letting only a moment pass, Jean turns her head up slightly as her eyes look at the clearing sky, “Sometimes the Goddess does answer prayers, even in death.”  
  
Clare’s confusion grows, as does her anger, but all that comes out is a whisper of confused sadness, “What does that mean?”  
  
“Haven’t you noticed anything strange? Where’s the awakened being?” Jean asks. Clare looks around, it’s still destroying buildings as the town is almost completely destroyed. “You can fight awakened beings all you want, Clare. You were and are always more capable than the Organization ever thought. You are much stronger than most of the other warriors will ever care to admit. But it’s still hard. Why, then, are you creating awakened beings in your mind?”  
  
A cold shiver runs up Clare’s spin as tears form in her eyes, “I…” she cannot find the words.  
  
“You cannot grow stronger until your conquer what is in your mind and your heart. You cannot grow stronger until you accept the fact you could not have done anything to prevent our deaths. You cannot grow stronger until you accept the fact I chose to give my life to you. Why did I do it? You saved me, Clare. And while you would constantly ask why I followed you, you never forced me away. You never pushed me away. You almost did when we made it to Pieta… but you wanted to save me yet again. Why is that?”  
  
“You… You… are my friend,” she chokes out. The tears flow from her eyes and down her cheek. Jean raises both her hands and cups Clare’s face, wiping the tears as they continue to flow.  
  
“And I am yours. Now and forever. I did what I did because I love you, Clare. There is no other reason. And thanks to you, Captain Miria, and the others… more warriors survived what was supposed to be a complete slaughter. And now, you have a greater mission. Please do not let these awakened beings in your heart take over you… or you’ll lose everything for nothing. Nothing,” she finishes. Her face is still one of complete love towards Clare.  
  
Clare moves one of her hands up and touches on of Jean’s arms as she moves forward. Jeans lets go of Clare’s face and wraps her arms around her, hugging her. She notice the sounds of collapsing buildings has stopped.  
  
Jean moves her head to Clare’s ear and whispers, “The Goddess of Rabona exists… and you are the only person I gave thanks for… Remember that. Wake up. Become stronger. Fulfill your mission. And try to live a life where you can find some happiness and join amidst the hell. Please, Clare. For me. For me and the others…” she trails off.  
  
Clare cries into Jean’s shoulder as Jean just holds her, letting her tame the guilt and anger. Jean starts to speak again, “I know you want to stay here forever… but you have a mission.” She uses her hands to push Clare’s face back so she can face her before continuing, ”And the next time I see you, I want you to have lived a long and meaningful life. Because you’re not living for yourself. You’re living for me, for Flora, for Irene, for Elena, for Teresa, and for that boy. We’ve all put our faith in you living… and we are proud. Live Clare… Just live.”  
  
“I… I love you, Jean,” Clare says.  
  
Jean smiles. It radiates as she looks into her eyes and says, “I love you, Clare.” She leans in and leaves a gentle kiss on Clare’s lips before letting go. As she lets go, Clare notices her surroundings starting fade away, the feeling of the boulder she had been leaning on returning, her legs stretches on the cold earth… her eyes open. She’s in the mountains of Alfons again. She gets up and wipes the tears from her eyes. She sheathes her sword, beginning her journey to the graveyard. A single thought stays in her mind, “Was it real?”

~*~

Every day for the last three weeks, she has come here. It is a ritual now. One she will complete for as long as she stays in the mountains of Alfons. She walks the familiar and now forming path to the graveyard. Miria and Deneve can feel it from Clare, there is something different on this day. Clare walks to Jean’s sword, the makeshift headstone all claymores end up being, and genuflects before it.  
  
On this day, she doesn’t ask the question. She looks at the emblem. Her breathing is shallow, her heart is pounding, there is a lump in her throat. She remembers what Jean said to her last night. But those words of comfort trigger the memory of that day… that moment Jean was no longer at her side. The pain in her heart grows as this time… the tears flow freely in this world.  
  
Jean, standing and stopping Helen from decapitating Clare. Jean, who was mortally injured. Despite the injury and the seconds of her life bleeding and beating away… Jean, in her heart, was at peace, even happy, “ _This time the roles are reversed. Back then… you brought me back from being awakened._ ” Clare tried to warn her, to stop her. The memories come flooding back and she’s overwhelmed to the point of nearly collapsing.  
  
The vision of Jean before her, pierced by the tendrils of Clare’s awakened form, looking so at peace while her voice was calm and reassuring, forcing herself closer to Clare, a faint smile had formed on Jean's face as she wrapped her arms around Clare's neck, “ _Come back, you can do it… Come back. Now I can finally repay you for what you did for me back then._ ”  
  
The pain in Clare’s heart is pure agony as she looks up to the dark and cold grey sky. Remembering her friend’s final moments; the look of peace, of adoration, of unconditional love Jean had on her face for Clare as she said her final words and gave the last of everything she had to Clare, “ _I’m grateful to you. Thank you, Clare. I’m glad I met you…_ ” And soon she was gone… while Clare was pulled back from the abyss.  
  
“Damn you…” It is but a whisper, choked behind tears and the pain in Clare’s heart. The utterance causes her more guilt; Jean's final words, her last breaths, spent trying to comfort Clare.  
  
“ _Live… Clare…_ ”  
  
Clare looks back at Jean’s sword, tracing her fingers of the emblem. She cries quietly, but the river of tears flow from her eyes, down her cheek, hitting the cold and harden earth. But she hears a voice behind her, a voice that cannot possibly be there, utter the same words she heard last night, “I love you, Clare. Live.”  
  
Perhaps some day… she will forgive herself enough where living does not seem like a cheat, where living is okay, where living is acceptable, where living is necessary. She needs to forgive herself, to honor what Jean asks of her. Perhaps, someday, simply living will be enough. “It’s what Jean wants…” she says to herself quietly.  
  
She must honor Jean and Teresa. By living, she will reunite with Raki and protect him… like she had been protected before. By just showing simple human kindness and care… she honors them both. In her heart, today, grief begins to turn into acceptance and she finally takes a step forward, committing to her training and to forgive herself. She would be a guardian to the others in her way. She will protect them, she will find Raki and protect him.    
  
She remembers Jean’s final words to her as Jean gave her life to her, “ _Live… Clare…_ ”  
  
She gets up slowly and touches the handle of the sword. She leans down and kisses the handle and says quietly, “I will, Jean… I love you.”  
  
She wipes the tears from her eyes and turns around. Making her way back to camp. Miria sees Clare change in stride, understanding that she will finally commit to the training to improve herself. Miria smiles slightly, relieved and joyful that Clare takes a step towards forgiveness and healing.  
  
“ _Live… Clare…_ ” The words will echo in Clare’s mind forever.  


**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first bit of fictional writing in a long time. This is actually my first posted fanfiction and I thank you for making it to the end.
> 
> I’d like to give special thanks to a couple of people. First, to Tumblr user [spacemosh](http://spacemosh.tumblr.com), who was my first supporter and beta of this fic. If you had not been so excited and supportive, I would have probably given up when I was feeling down it, I thank you considerably
> 
> Second, to Tumblr user [jean-number9](http://jean-number9.tumblr.com), my second beta, who gave me a great deal of feedback and help me fix things I was having problems writing (like the second damn night terror) and making sure I kept the characters in character. I thank you considerably.
> 
> If anyone considers this fic any good, you have these two to thank. 
> 
> Third, I want to thank [shotgunsinlace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace), aka [jaegersaurus](http://celestialparadigm.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, in the Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin fandom for just writing such a good fic that it inspired me to start writing fiction and practice again. 
> 
> Fourth, Tumblr user [fuckyeahclaymore](http://fuckyeahclaymore.tumblr.com), for being a supporter of much of what I've written in the Claymore fandom.
> 
> Last, I’d like to thank my best friend, Cia. She’s the one that gave me a formal introduction to anime and manga and put Claymore on the list. She’s also the reason I wrote and posted this fic, so maybe she’ll like it.
> 
> [Updated: 11/8/2014 to fix some typos/grammar issues. Thanks to [as-socially-awkward-as-possible](http://as-socially-awkward-as-possible.tumblr.com) on Tumblr].


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